


Contact

by mayoho



Category: The Secret History of Twin Peaks - Mark Frost, Twin Peaks
Genre: Gen, I knew there wasn't enough Cooper & Hawk fic, Insomnia, It didn't even come up in the relationships list., Missing Scene, platonic hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayoho/pseuds/mayoho
Summary: Cooper is distracting himself by writing reports, but what he really needs is a hug.





	Contact

Hawk had noted Cooper’s car outside the Bookhouse, but he’s still surprised to find Cooper sitting in front of a typewriter, keys clicking along at an allegro tempo that seems out of place outside a secretarial pool. He glances up briefly, not missing a keystroke, when Hawk pushes the door open. He catalogs the room. The typewriter isn’t where it belongs; Cooper had moved it from the desk in the corner to a table, and dragged the table a few feet towards the center of the room affording him an unobstructed view of the entrance. This seems, to Hawk, to be a rational response to Windom Earle’s presence in town but it doesn’t speak well of Cooper’s emotional state, regardless. 

He watches in silence as Cooper types to the end of the page, feeds the bottom margin through, stacks it on the growing pile of upside down pages, taps the stack sharply against the table, and places the sheaf back in its place to the left of the typewriter, edges squared with the corner of the table.

“Where did you learn to type?” Hawk interrupts as Cooper feeds the next sheet into the typewriter. 

Cooper sits bolt upright, nearly up and out of his chair. It would be comical if it weren’t for the tired smudges under his eyes, the fading bruise from his encounter with Jean Renault, the way the tension doesn’t fade from his shoulders.

“Diane taught me.” Cooper’s voice is soft and a bit wistful.

“Why?”

Cooper shrugs, “Slow few days at the office. And I think she wanted it to have more weight when she threatened to make me transcribe my own tapes.” 

Cooper smiles, ever so slightly. Hawk allows one corner of his mouth to quirk upwards and shakes his head. He leans against the nearest bookshelf, eyes the stack of paper and typewriter, and raises an eyebrow at Cooper.

“I’m given to understand the Bookhouse Boys encourage keeping written records of observations and investigations—journaling. Harry likely intended my membership to be honorary, but here I am.” Hawk shakes his head again. He both admires and is vaguely annoyed by Cooper’s ability to talk at length without giving much away, the way he conceals it with interesting information and the occasional startling directness. It’s a hell of a good thing Cooper’s a decent person. 

“Journaling is a poor substitute for sleep,” Hawk decides to cut to the chace. The kid’s face crumples in distress and he looks away. Kid--he is practically a child. Lucy had waved the paperwork Cooper had filed after Truman deputized him dangerously close to Hawk’s face with an inarticulate, poorly suppressed squeak until he had snatched the papers out of her hand and seen the year Cooper had printed next to his birthdate. 1959. Christ.

“Come here,” Hawk says softly, crossing halfway across the room. Now it’s Cooper’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but he moves towards Hawk without comment until Hawk wraps his arms around Cooper’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

“Ancient Native American healing magic,” Hawk says in unnecessary explanation—Cooper has already snaked his arms around Hawk’s back and relaxed into his chest.

He can feel Cooper nod against his shoulder. “Physical contact has been shown to increase serotonin and dopamine levels in the human brain.” 

Cooper’s an odd one, even in a town with the likes of Margaret Lanterman, but Hawk holds onto him, rubbing a hand up and down Cooper’s spine. The soft feeling of flannel under his hand is disconcerting. The casual backcountry dress doesn’t suit Cooper’s demeanor--it’s almost like he’s playing dress up. They stand together as Cooper’s breathing slows; until Hawk has to consider the risk that Cooper will somehow manage to fall asleep standing up. 

“Come on, there’s a bed in the back room.”

Cooper picks his head up, slack-faced with exhaustion, but Hawk lets him wander off unsupervised--he’s not Harry.

Cooper pauses in the doorway, clear eyed and focused for a moment. “Thank you.”

Hawk dips his chin in acknowledgement and settles back against the nearest bookshelf.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided that Hawk and Cooper are great together and there should be more of that. Especially stuff like the moment where they are in the Great Northern dining room together and Cooper asks Hawk if he believes in souls. It has to be one of the most touching, well executed, and carefully concealed info dumps of all time. 
> 
> I know all of the supplemental cannon indicate that Cooper is like, 35, but I am dead set on his birthday being much closer to Kyle MacLachlan's (which would make him 29-30). It just works better with what we see in screen for him to be too young to have the authority and responsibility that he does. 
> 
> Anyway, yay platonic physical contact!
> 
> Con-crit welcome. 
> 
> (Also, since I don't really social media, I am going to use this space to complain. I have 6,000 words of Pittsburgh Cooper/Caroline fic I've been working on and off on since March. What am I doing?!? How to people write long things?)


End file.
